As we wade into the drought
A hazy tide with hands of art
Soaking up peace
Graffiti kissing the walls
Craving normal folk
Whiskey oak spins your hemisphere
As we follow a gypsy road
The compass is weak and unsure
I stand on the brittle edge
With aspirations in my pocket
With a road of flowers and uncertainty ahead
But we sing folk music for the young
We savor the sound
Were full of heart and vitality
We get torn and misshaped
But we continue to dream about unity anyway